Safeword
by Lapis Love
Summary: Bonnie Bennett and Christian Grey are twentysomething entrepreneurs who have a lot on their plates, and on the surface don't appear to have much in common besides a dominating attraction to one another that spills over into their everyday lives jeopardizing one of their careers. Who is going to have to bend and use that safeword? Chronnie fic AH/AU. DISCONTINUED


**A/N: If you're reading this again or reading this for the first time, I had plans to make this a multi-chaptered fic but I'm discontinuing this story. I ran into a severe block, didn't like the plot I had in mind. Sorry for the inconvenience loves. I'm leaving it up for now, but there are no planned updates for this story.**

Disclaimer: Characters belong to their respective owners. Bonnie B to CW, Christian Grey to EL James. OC's are mine as well as this plot whatever it may turn out to be. Copyright infringement is not intended.

* * *

"_Futile and sensitive, I'm capable of violent and consuming impulses—both good and bad, noble and vile…my soul is impatient with itself, as a bothersome child, its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same."_ –source unknown.

She wouldn't budge from my mind. Wouldn't leave me alone. I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Inhaled the air, I smelled her scent. I'm here in my bedroom fucking the shit out of another woman but I'm imagining she's _her_. Someone shorter, curvier, with an ass that would probably ripple every single time I plowed into her from behind.

The thought of that alone makes me harder.

Marcella was keening and whining each time her inner muscles shrunk and squeezed me, a sure sign she was close to coming. Her thrusts turned more demanding and I was right on the edge with her, grunting and sweating with the exertion. Our flesh smacking together centered my thoughts only periodically, but it wasn't enough to silence the multitude of voices in my head.

I had yet to reach that threshold where pleasure became pain. Then again this was only the first round with Marcella who could fuck for hours, one of the few women in my sordid history who could keep up with me.

Tonight I hadn't been in the right frame of mind to handle anything more decadent than having a warm, wet vagina masturbate me. I wanted to burn off the added stress in that special playroom of mine, but my current companion was adverse to that which meant restraint on my end. The disappointment that one of my vices wouldn't be utilized, all too soon my body stiffened. I released a week's worth of pent up frustration in a jet of come that butted up against a latex sheath.

I had to pinch my lips brutally from calling out another name. A name I had forbidden myself from ever speaking aloud, but really a name I didn't even know. Marcella screamed, which I won't lie made me come again even if the aftershock registered a 2.0 on the Richter scale. She twitched and jerked and slowly climbed down from her orgasmic high, a soft smile on her flushed face.

Winded, I paused for a second before sliding out of Marcella's wet twat. I slowly eased the condom off my softening dick, and the euphoria that just crashed into me vaporized and I was back to feeling moody and restless.

This fuck had been a total waste of my time.

I told myself frequently that sex wasn't the answer and was only a temporary solution to a permanent problem. I'll be the first to tell you that intimacy and I were dysfunctional at best. My co-dependency didn't lie with just the relationship I had with my conscience and my dick, it extended to most areas of my life. Women were useful distractions and that's what I used them as, distractions. Yet something persistently nagged me, telling me I was in the mood for more, but with my proclivities and schedule I seldom had time for more.

Sex was all I could afford to give to anyone at the moment.

Climbing off the bed, I dumped the soiled condom into the trash bin and prowled my way inside the bathroom to shower, and brush the taste of Marcella's thirty-seven year old pussy off my tongue.

I didn't need to see her face to know she was pouting—petulantly because she had some archaic idea of me holding her afterwards, giving her oral accolades on how well she laid it down. Trust me, I've had better. Sometimes with myself.

"Christian," she whined.

For now I ignored her, pretended I couldn't hear over the roar of me relieving myself in the toilet.

"You do this all the time," her whined thus turned into a complaint.

I flushed and started the shower, took two steps and I was in front of the sink reaching for my toothbrush.

Marcella took it upon herself to join me, leaning her slightly pudgy-around-the-middle body along the doorframe. She's a beautiful woman, but years of sun tanning outdoors were catching up with her. Around her hairline, especially were age spots. I loved women of all shapes, sizes, ages, but doing Marcella was more of a habit than anything else.

She brought with her a sense of security that I needn't worry about our escapades becoming front page news. She needed the anonymity being with me afforded considering she's in the middle of a nasty divorce and there were small children involved.

I tried not to get involved with women who were mothers because I demanded a lot of time when I'm in the disposition for frequent companionship. I made an exception with Marcella simply because I viewed her as a friend.

Yet she had that look about her that she wanted more, probably envisioning me as hubby number two.

I had nothing against marriage. It's just not in the cards for me.

"What is it, Marcella?"

"You're…not yourself tonight," she informed. "You were quieter than usual at dinner and several times while we were together it almost seemed as if you were picturing I was someone else. Tired of me already, Christian?"

"Of you, no," that's what my mouth said while everything below my neck had a difference of opinion. I only managed to finish what I initiated because of thoughts of _her. _

"Liar," Marcella accused and smiled. Her smile took a lot of effort to come off as convincing.

She sauntered into the bathroom in all her naked glory, stood behind me, and draped her arms around my torso. Marcella nuzzled her cheek into my back, and I couldn't deny a warming sensation crawled down the length of my body. Thankfully it didn't redirect to my crotch. The stirrings of intimacy were trying in vain to wrap around me, but my inward pessimism drove them off.

The need to be alone was rising and my hospitality had minutes of battery life left.

"It's okay," Marcella tried to reassure me but I think more so herself. Women were astute in knowing when they were about to be dumped, ditched for what a man perceived as something better. She knew the end of our tryst was imminent.

"What's okay?" I questioned out of a sick need to hear her make a case for herself.

"That you're ready to move on. I never had any notions of this lasting beyond a couple of fun nights and hot weekends. We have history, most of it good, but even I know something's have to come to an end at some point."

I vigorously brushed my teeth. From our positions it made it impossible to see Marcella's eyes, but I heard the threat of tears coming loud enough.

"Marcella, there's no one else in the picture," I said after spitting sudsy reside from my mouth.

"Yet," she tacked on.

I said nothing to refute that and went back to brushing. She knew me. Knew my tastes varied as much as my business pursuits.

Her arms dropped from my person and she stepped back. I was finally able to close that last hole in my impenetrable bubble.

"I just hope whoever she is," Marcella began, "she knows what she's getting herself into. You've broken your share of hearts, Christian Grey. And you know what they say about karma. Many are anticipating the day your heart suffers the same fate as theirs."

I snorted and spat out another wad of sudsy toothpaste. One cannot break something which does not exist.

* * *

They'll want to say that I have a problem. That I have a specific addiction or that my proclivities are a borderline faction of self-hatred, but they just don't really understand or want to take the time to see beyond the smokescreen. They are deceived by my own vanity, and the fact I make one dollar at a time using my words to spur others into action who would otherwise remain inactive as their own parade of solidarity.

The truth was, exploring different sides of your personality was the most fun anyone could have with or without taking your clothes off.

"_You have a bit of a reputation for being a man-eater. What do you say to critics who believe you're setting a bad example for today's youth, especially young girls in being linked to so many men?"_

A small, nondescript smile lifted her cheekbones and made the feline shape of her eyes more prominent. _"I find it interesting the world cares so much about what I do with my vagina when there are serious issues happening every single minute of every hour of the day. I enjoy hanging out with my friends. I enjoy spending time with like-minded individuals and if they so happen to be men,"_ she stopped to shrug, _"who gives a shit? If that's setting a bad example then I'd like to take a peek inside my critics lives to see if there's something they're doing I would find controversial. _

"_What I want people to take away from this is a deep appreciation for human life. To lose one you lose a piece of history we won't be able to get back. When you love others you won't stand for injustice. When you respect others, those around you will follow suit."_

"_That's a beautiful message but you gotta admit, being seen with so many well-to-do, gorgeous men not everyone believes things are…"_

She raised a finger in the air to stop the interviewer in mid-sentence. Slender bronze fingers picked up a tea cup and she helped herself to a sip, savoring the beverage. _"Again as I said, what I do in my personal life if just that, personal. I'm here to talk about my career. Not give a tour of my bedroom." _

Enzo Riodan chortled and ran his tongue over his teeth as he watched me, his client, entrepreneur Bonnie Bennett take total control of the interview that would become part of a documented series on successful women of color and the barriers we were breaking.

I watched myself on screen remaining composed in an ivory suit that paid homage to my figure, but certainly didn't downplay my readiness for business. I had recently cut my hair which was now wavy, shoulder length that cupped a face aesthetically engineered for any magazine cover. Some said I had the kind of eyes that encouraged someone to get off their ass and put their best foot forward. I don't know about all of that. Others exclaimed they seduced, not with promises of endless ecstasy—maybe after putting a few stiff drinks in me—but they dared anyone to orbit in my life and walk away the same. Again, I doubted that as well.

The interviewer, journalist Cassie Jameson laughed airily and anyone with a decent pair of ears would tell you that was forced amusement on her end. Cassie was stereotypically blonde and blue eyed to fit the status quo motif. What I was more interested in would be her talking points at the end of my interview where she would reduce the facts of my organization joining a global effort to bring awareness to human trafficking, and play up the superficiality of my personal life.

"_Well, certainly,"_ Cassie smiled. _"But you can't deny the interest. So…the men you've been rumored to be with…have any made any contribution to your organization Themiscrya Unlimited, love the name by the way."_

The smile on my face I could definitely say was pinched. _"Donations are given on an anonymity basis unless a special request is made otherwise. So I can't really say what they do with their millions."_

Cassie flipped through her dossier, _"I just find it hard to believe that any one of these men wouldn't…"_

"_I'm sorry,"_ I interrupted and hadn't been sorry in the least. _"This is a documentary about women breaking barriers, correct?"_

Cassie snapped her head up and looked at me in confusion. _"Yes."_

"_Then why have you been fixated on my love life or I should say the men in it?"_

"_I'm just trying to get a bit of background for the story."_

I shook my head. _"I know I have a bit of a reputation but that shouldn't overlook the fact that my organization is doing amazing things in improving the lives of countless people who are in serious need of help. Maybe that bores you…"_

I turned off the recording. Enzo stared at me. "Didn't like it?" he asked pointlessly.

"Would you like it if someone tried to dumb you down and make you look like a sex addicted harlot? She asked me exactly _three_ questions about the company, and never brought up the number of small children that have been reunited with their families since we became a subsidiary of NATO. All she wanted to know was who was climbing between my legs. I want to reshoot the interview and get me Tasha Ford this time. I'm not signing off on this."

Enzo didn't bother to argue. Merely picked up his BlackBerry and said, "On it."

Running my hands through my hair in frustration I waltzed over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and stared at the city of Vancouver. It had been raining for the last three days and didn't appear to want to go on vacation any time soon. Because of the dreary weather it made everything look old, colorless, and rundown.

Intermittedly, I heard Enzo talking in the background doing what any good manager would do, and that was to prevent a train wreck from happening. He and I had been partners for three years and things were working out so far. Hopefully we could keep our friendship separated from our business relationship because I would hate to have to sue his ass.

He and I met seven years ago through a mutual friend I was no longer on speaking terms with. Enzo rubbed me the wrong way at first—his arrogance he thought had been charming, but really it was irritating. But after getting plastered a few times together, I discovered he did have a soul that was older than his biological years. We shared similar views, and the man was very good at public relations which I needed once my trust fund had been activated.

I found myself sitting on a pile of cash with no idea what to do with it, until Enzo pointed me in the right direction. We partnered up, going half and half on a venture that would diminish and hopefully one day stop human trafficking.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to send a log of blacklisted questions that if they are asked the interview will immediately end. That's non-negotiable," Enzo bartered.

That made me smirk. He didn't just look after my interests from a business standpoint but a human one as well.

I might only be twenty-eight years old but my life hadn't exactly been…well…normal. And many would argue who had a normal life but my life could have ended tragically at nine years old, but I was still here, and still periodically haunted by what happened to me.

As such, forming attachments to people was so vitally important yet they also cost me a lot. I wasn't always a good judge of character usually allowing my heart and not common sense to make decisions for me. To date I made some poor judgment calls I was still reeling from, but none as big as what I recently set in motion.

The bad part…I didn't even get his name.

His face…that was another matter altogether.

In public I was seen with affluent men who sat on top of the world spit shining their Rolexes. Behind the scenes, my other persona took over and she was insatiable. Only a handful of people had been lucky, if you want to call it that, enough to meet her.

I switched my thoughts back to the man I rode on that private elevator with at the Heathman Hotel when I had a speaking engagement in Portland. Coming across someone with gray eyes was extremely rare for me, but he had the grayest eyes I had ever born witness to perched in a face so wickedly hot I literally got wet just from staring at him. I had my moments of ineptitude, and that unfortunately had been one of them. The cat didn't just have my tongue, but had shredded my voice box.

I noted every detail about him worth remembering, which was everything. His three piece suit was a shade darker than his eyes, reddish-golden hair neatly combed in a pompadour. His rectangle shaped face was covered with light blond stubble which gave him a relaxed after five appeal that made you want to loosen his tie and pop the top three buttons of his starched white shirt. The scent of his cologne went a long way in cementing this memory. The man had smelled of a citrusy spice you dreamt of smelling on your own skin after depleting every drop of lubricant your body could produce.

The both of us unloaded in the main lobby. No words had been exchanged between us, but something did happen because the air became so thick with tension, I suffered from a mild case of shortness of breath. Whether he had been affected, I really couldn't say.

It was taking a wealth of concentration on my end to forget that impersonal moment, and focus primarily on work, but that man was never far from my thoughts.

Yet my yearning had been piqued and until I found him or not, I wasn't going to be granted much sleep.

Enzo joined me at the bank of windows, his shoes not making a single sound on the cream carpet.

"So when's the reshoot?" I tendered.

"In five days. And it won't be happening at that swanky presidential suite like last time. Mrs. Ford wants to interview you at HQ."

That bit of news made me immensely happy. I should have suspected the interview wouldn't be about the organization when Cassie had been quick to shoot down the suggestion of actually filming at Themiscrya.

I laid a hand on Enzo's shoulders. "You always come through for me."

"And I always will. It's Friday. Drinks at Skyfall? Dinner at Atlantis? I can make reservations…well get my assistant to do it."

"Neither. I have plans tonight."

A solitary eyebrow on Enzo's face lifted to his hairline. "With?"

"No one for you to get bent out of shape about," I placated.

"Bonnie," and I hated whenever his tone turned reproachful like now. "Don't you think you're spreading yourself a little too thin? Pun fully not intended."

Aggravated I blew out a harsh breath. "It's not like that, Enzo. I'm meeting my best friend's boyfriend. She simply wants me to give my approval. Not like she would listen to me anyways. Braeden is going to do what she likes."

Stepping away from the window I strolled over to one of the two chairs that sat opposite Enzo's desk and collected my purse. I slung the strap over my shoulder and pinned him with a slight mischievous grin.

"But if I meet someone…there's no telling where things may go. I'll see you on Monday."

"Or Saturday on Page 6," I heard Enzo mumble under his breath.

I ignored that, blew him a kiss, and strolled out of his office.

My mind instantly shifted to how long it would take me to reach my high-rise while battling rush hour traffic as my heels clacked nosily through the marble foyer. The doors to the elevator opened the minute I pressed the down arrow and I stepped on to the lift. To my annoyance it stopped on the floor below and I shifted from the middle of the elevator to stand off to the side at the back. To avoid making awkward small talk, I pulled out my cell phone to surf my email.

A gaggle of men entered talking loudly, and I did my best not to contort my face. I didn't need to exercise much effort in not following their conversation as they talked about mergers and acquisitions or some boring shit like that. Much to my relief we quickly descended to the lobby, and the minute the doors sprang open, they filed out. I waited for the last man to exit, but he didn't.

Peeling my eyes away from my phone screen, my jaw slackened a little.

Gray eyes stared down at me.

Maybe this weekend wasn't going to blow after all.

**A/N: FOR NOW THIS STORY IS MARKED AS COMPLETE. **


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